


keep your faith

by lesbianedgeworth



Series: don't sleep through dreams (sleeping beauty bad end) [2]
Category: Persona 5, Persona 5: The Royal - Fandom, Persona Series
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, MASSIVE P5R SPOILERS, Suicide Attempt, joker still does not show up klsdafjlaskd, maruki (around), more to be tagged as relevant, nobody expects it to work but it happens., other assorted persona 5 characters, second fic in this series huh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianedgeworth/pseuds/lesbianedgeworth
Summary: “Light, or dark?” Wakaba asks, hefting two of the coffee-jars. “The roast,” she elaborates, “this isn’t philosophy, Goro.”akechi goro's chances of winning are almost none... but there may yet be a possibility laid out to him, if he doesn't bite the apple first. the rabbit-hole awaits.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: don't sleep through dreams (sleeping beauty bad end) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706098
Comments: 11
Kudos: 129





	1. so happy world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flasdjlfksad welcome to goro akechi's wild ride! he'd like off now. just like the first part of the series, this takes place in the "sleeping beauty bad ending". now that i have slightly more information on how you even get that one i am extremely pleased i pegged protagonists motivation-- HOWEVER i suppose this whole au takes place in a slightly different timeline where he fucked off on the last day instead of the group collectively realizing they'd fucked up.

“You know something, Sakamoto?” Honesty is not a privilege often granted. Goro lets the mirror crack, jagged-edged smile crawling across a façade too broken to maintain.

_It’s a beautiful day_ , he thinks.

The snow that falls softly onto his hair shimmers in the mid-afternoon light, the breeze that chases lone flakes over the edge not cold so much as pleasantly brisk _._ “...I really don’t like you. Never have.”

“H- hey, man,” Sakamoto exhales. “S’not really the time for— uh, _this_ , right? Right. You got beef with me, you can— tell me— after--?” the boy cuts himself off. Takes a hesitant step towards Goro.

The perfect sort of day. “Ha, ha! No, I’m serious. Fuck you.” The kind of day you ought to spend with warm coffee and warmer company. “I truly cannot comprehend how Joker tolerated it. I mean, honestly. How goddamned long does it TAKE to comprehend _basic._ Fucking. Logic?”

_Joker_? _,_ Sakamoto mouths. Inaudible-- but Goro would have to be half blind and deader than he is to miss that name in any medium, lips of blithering idiots included. “Wha…? Akechi, w- who the _fu—_ eff is Jo--”

Sakamoto takes another step forward.

Goro takes another step back.

One more, and…

“—kER? Alright! Alright! Uh!”

Past the safety-rails of a public bridge is not, Goro supposes, conductive to a productive conversation. But that’s not the point. “Despite everything, though… heh. I can’t say I never respected you. You never let your— _limitations_ , let’s say-- stop you from charging boldly forward. And you were… I suppose adequate in a fight, if nothing else.”

“You. _Arrrrrhhhh_ — ya aren’t— aren’t makin’ any _sense._ ” Sakamoto is crying. What a useless thing to do. “C’mon, man, w- we’re friends, ain’t we? Jus’…” He spreads his arms wide. Sincerity bleeds out into the air like blood in the water. “…Step away from the edge, yeah?”

It’s funny. There’s plenty of foot traffic on this public fucking bridge, but Sakamoto and him might as well be alone-- they won’t _look_. Which, ha, aha, anything that threatens the public’s blind devotion to this perfect, so happy, WONDERFUL WORLD—

“Do shut up.” Ha. “Us? FRIENDS? Don’t make me laugh. You only _think_ we are because some _self-righteous old man_ is extending a fucking apple, like playing ski-ball with you is supposed to be a goddamn temptation. Ha!”

Beneath his heels there’s nothing but wind and the void. How long IS the drop? Thirty meters to the water below? Forty?

“Goro,” Sakamoto pleads.

The Detective Prince smiles, pleasantly. “Maruki-sensei,” he says, and

takes

one

step

back.

Wind roaring in his ears and Sakamoto screaming and the last words he can force out before the breath’s ripped from his lungs, “Suck my _d—”_

***

_This again, Akechi-kun?_

***

“—so that’s why I gotta cancel. Sorry, Dude.” Sakamoto laughs into the phone line, voice tinny and distant _._ Goro had invited him out to the bridge— but of course, something came up. Perhaps another time. “Ma comes first, y’know?”

“Of course,” Goro laughs. The line goes dead. Social niceties thusly handled, Goro flings the phone at the wall so hard it shatters, plastic and glass scattering across the floor like cockroaches. “TRASH!” he shrieks, “PIECE OF _SHIT_!” Goddammit goddammit GODDAMIT GODDAMMIT GOD

_What was I supposed to do_? cries the wind in the trees. Strange that he can hear it still, through wood and plaster and insulation. _You ARE in my care, Akechi-kun. I won’t let you be--_

Goro begins to scream.

_\--hurt. But… I see I’ve overstayed my welcome. You have six more days! And-- an earnest apology, from me. If you’ll take it._

His throat should be bloody-ragged a thousand times over. But that isn’t how this place _works_ , is it? So, he screams. And he screams and he screams, and he screams until that gets boring and he’s left lying face-up on the plush carpet of his bedroom floor. It’s cleaner than it should be. The knickknacks and piecemeal garbage that prove he’s alive (ha) all thrown away or-- organized? Straightened out. Polished, even.

He didn’t do that.

( _does he live alone, in this world?_ )

( _shut up. don’t think about it._ )

“…Fuck,” Goro laughs. “Fucking coward _._ Fucking _Joker._ ”

Thinking about _him_ makes him want to— argh. Fuck. Gouge his eyes out, or something. But Maruki won’t let that happen! Not in his goddamn baby-proofed reality, so he’s left…

seething.

Mostly.

Goro _could_ attempt to inconvenience another one of Joker’s idiot brainwashed friends, but he suspects that opportunity has passed. Maruki was willing to extend enough good-will to slacken the rope the first three times he traumatized one of them, but a fourth?

He couldn’t be _that_ stupid.

…It’s not possible.

“I,” he tells absolutely no-one at all, because manipulative pieces of _shit_ are not watching him and there absolutely goddamned nobody else in this goddamned apartment, “am going to eat dinner.”

***

The frozen dinners he keeps stocked in the freezer are gone, but…

…there’s curry in the fridge.

Fresh, he thinks.

If there’s a _little love in it_ , it’s not because J-- because _he_ was experimenting. Goro can tell just by looking at it: that’s Sakura-san’s recipe, meticulously followed. He thinks about throwing it out the window, but in the end… his grumbling stomach wins out over a brief sort of victory. It _has_ been a long day, he supposes.

Mollified, he dusts off a bowl from the top cupboards. Shido had, if nothing else— no, _nothing_ else-- set him up in a very nice apartment. Western style. The dishes he never uses are the good shit, too, the kind of stuff he could only imagine eating out of when it was him and Mom and the last chipped bowl before they had to run the wash-- or… the place he’d lived, after.

( _there’s someone in the apartment.)_

He spoons the curry into the bowl. Sets the microwave’s timer to 1:00— changes his mind. Sets it to 1:30. Changes his mind again. How long are you supposed to microwave curry? Should he… put a paper towel over it, or something…? Why doesn’t he know how to do this.

What the fuck.

( _front door creaking behind him, the tell-tale sound of somebody— taller, older— nudging their shoes off for house-slippers.)_

He puts the curry inside the microwave and slams the door shut. Whatever. Presses start. Whatever! Wait, no, never mind— there’s supposed to be an option to add thirty seconds, right…? Microwaving frozen dinners isn’t so…. goddamned! Complicated!!

Goro finds the fucking button. Why does a microwave have forty settings? Why does a microwave _need_ forty settings? Why did he buy this. Goro presses the button.

( _she’s behind him._ )

BEEP.

( _don’t think about it.)_

The fan kicks in. Wrong button. He presses it again—the fan doesn’t even _shut off_ , what the fuck.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEEEEP.

( _don’t._ )

BEEPBEEPBEEP.

“…think. About it,” Goro spits, microwave finally BEEEPING to a stop. It should be undercooked— he thinks, he’s pretty sure— but the curry is fine. More than fine. Perfect! Perfectly cooked, perfectly fresh, like it’s just out of that pot Sakura keeps simmering in the back. “Urgh,” he says to the ceiling, “I’m not even _hungry_ now.”

There’s no one behind him. He finishes off the curry, and, dumping the bowl into the sink, stomps back to his bedroom.

***

There’s nothing in the sink when he wakes up.

***

Three days of absolutely fucking nothing teaches Goro this: all the spite in the world will not change the fact that he can only passive aggressively stare at a wall for _so long._

Christ.

It’s not like he has a job, now— and with no truancy officers beating down his door and his so-called friends easily distracted, there’s nothing stopping him from just… wandering around. He picks up some sushi, and it’s good, even if he has to swallow it faster than then he wants to—God save him if some stranger wants a friendly chat.

Ha ha, of course, _never mind_ that the real article shouldn’t be so cheap, _never mind_ that Goro’s credit card should have been canceled by now. Never MIND whatever saccharine bullshit the manager attempts to regale him with _anyway_ , despite all goddamn indication that he is. Not! INTERESTED! Urgh.

Wandering down to Yongen-Jaya is more instinct than conscious action.

…Leblanc is right there. He could—

“Excuse me,” Goro asks a passing gentleman. The old man stops in his tracks, greets Goro with a smile so shiny he’s almost blinded. Pervert, probably. “But I’ve heard tales of a… batting cage, nearby? If you could be so kind as to direct me…?”

Directions acquired, Goro turns away from Leblanc and doesn’t look back.

( _lying again?_ )

***

Wait for it.

Wait for it…

_CRACK!_

**HOME RUN!**

Goro likes batting cages. The rules are simple enough, and there’s something soothing about swinging at something with a blunt object as hard as he possibly can. And he’s good at it, too, of course. That helps.

_CRACK!_

**HOME RUN!**

Imagine the ball is Shido, lounging in jail and _enjoying himself_.

_CRACK!_

**HOME RUN!**

Imagine the ball is Maruki Goddamned Takuto.

_CRACK!_

**HOME RUN!**

Imagine the ball is _Joker_ , that traitorous bastard, ATTIC TRASH—

…miss.

miss.

MISS! MISS! M—

“GOD _DAMMIT—”_ throwing the bat is childish. He does it, anyway, lets it hit the fence so hard metal dents. He can’t seem to _help himself_ these days, anger boiling to a fever pitch, dead man FUCKING walking, Joker already—

close enough.

Close enough— _worse_ , a puppet with limp strings-- and Goro can’t even _do_ anything about it.

“Stupid fucking bastard,” Goro hisses. Sinks to his knees, knuckles bruised against the dirt. “We. Had! A deal. We HAD a deal. And you just--” Of course, Joker would be the one to stab him in the back.

Of course, Goro would be the one to ruin him. Joker was supposed to be…

_…better_ , then Goro was.

What a fucking joke.

“I—” and look at him now. Pouting like a child. “God dammit,” he swears. Three more days, and here he was, wasting what little time he had left.

He grabs the bat on his way out.

***

_…I told you, didn’t I?_

_Visiting hours are over._

***

“Kid,” Sakura sighs, “Look. I’m not trying to… rain on your parade. Or _whatever_ this is supposed to be.”

Goro tightens his grip on the bat. Tries his best to mold his expression into something palatable, like effort could revive the Detective Prince _now._ He doesn’t think it’s working. Whatever! It’s just him and Sakura in Leblanc. An old couple had been settled in at the booth in the back when he’d arrived, but they were long gone now.

“Seriously. I can’t have you up there— hey!” Goro takes a step forward, weapon loose in his grip. Sakura isn’t _afraid_ of a punk kid like him, Goro can tell that much, but that face… the man has little desire to make the altercation physical. Good. “The hell is _wrong_ with you!”

“Out of my way,” Goro growls. Pushes past the old man. Sakura doesn’t try to stop him, like Goro guessed he wouldn’t— it’s a good thing. If he had, Maruki might try to get involved earlier than he wanted him too.

Except—

No.

No, no, _no_

“Fuck, kid,” Wakaba snorts, from behind him. “You really stepped in it now.”

Goro—

Goro’s back. _Burns_ , where he can feel her eyes. Watching him. Like dead women shouldn’t.

“’S just an attic, Goro,” she elaborates. “Unless you scared the SHIT out of Sojiro for… some of my old books… I don’t think you’re finding what you think you’re finding.”

She sounds just like she used too. Amused. Crass, though she tried to tone it down near Futaba… apparently. Once-- while they were waiting for Goro’s bloodwork to turn out, a sample from _in_ the metaverse and not outside it-- she’d told him Futaba’s first word had been ‘ _fuck_ ’, to her own bemused horror. He’d believed her.

And. She’s right. It’s just an old, empty room. If Joker had been here before, the evidence was long gone— had, as a matter of fact, never existed. _Visiting hours were…_

“Drop that, won’t you? Jesus.”

Instinct kicks his ass. He drops the bat.

“Hm… what would Futaba say…? _El Oh El._ Oh, where’d you even get that, the batting cages?” She’s. RIGHT behind him. He can feel her breathing. “That’s not very gentleman-ly of you… Goro.”

Yeah.

“Oh, shit… I really have to wonder why we stopped talking,” she laughs, “if this is what happens when somebody leaves you alone. But Sojiro left. You hear me? We’ll table a discussion with _him_ until later—and in the MEANTIME, we’re in a fucking café. Let’s eat.” Her hand is warm on his shoulder.

“…I’m,” he whispers. “—not hungry. Sensei. Had sushi. Earlier.”

“Coffee, then,” she replies. “And-- don’t act so polite _now_. It’s giving me the creeps.” Goro is pulled down the stairs before he can comprehend it, shoved none-too-gently onto one of the barstools at the counter. Wakaba whistles, fiddling with coffee-jars. She did that— Goro remembers. Could never stand the silence without some sort of outlet. She’d kept a small collection of fidget toys at her workspace, let him mess with them while she—

Urgh. Not now.

“Light, or dark?” Wakaba asks, hefting two of the coffee-jars. “The roast,” she elaborates, “this isn’t philosophy, Goro.” And. That sure is a question. It takes him a moment to unlock his jaw, unstick the correct answer— she raises an eyebrow, but waits for him.

“…Light,” he says.

She laughs. Mocking him— but in a nice sort of way, like she cares. That’s familiar too. “Still haven’t grown up, _Goro-chan_?”

His coffee preferences haven’t changed much since he was sixteen, no.

Goro must have pulled a face at, anyway— _Goro-chan_ , Christ. “It’s fine,” Wakaba snickers, “It’s scientifically possible you’ll get better… someday. Anyway. One light-roast coffee, coming up.”

He sits there, while she works-- the only sounds in the café the humming, the gentle clinks and clanks of jars being moved. Pour-over equipment being fiddled with. His heartbeat. It’s surreal. A bad goddamned joke. Wakaba doesn’t belong here, not _here,_ in _Joker’s_ place. But. Ha, haha-- it’s him, that doesn’t belong, isn’t it? Akechi Goro is nothing to Isshiki Wakaba, not her boyfriend, not her daughter, and Joker is--

\--nowhere to be found.

Hn.

“Order-up!” Wakaba says, sliding a mug his way. He catches it on instinct. Lifts it to his lips— light-roast coffee, some blend he can’t identify but immediately knows he likes, and the (scientifically) perfect amount of cream and sugar. Naturally.

“Thank you, Sensei.” He takes another sip. “It’s good.”

Wakaba looks appropriately flattered, until she doesn’t. Hn. “Alright,” she sighs. “You gonna tell me what the hell is going on? We can do this,” she narrows her eyes. Points a finger at him. “The easy way, or the hard way, but I’m digging up the answer no matter what.”

“Sensei—”

“Ah, nuh uh,” Wakaba says, waving the finger like she’s _admonishing_ him, what is he, EIGHT. “I told you. Quit it with the polite schtick.”

“ _Sensei_ ,” Goro snaps.

“…hm. Better.”

Imagine. All this, and he gets Maruki’s attention by throwing hot coffee at a ghost. Not that he would do that. Probably. Maybe. “Look. I… can I ask you a question first?”

“Maybe,” she retorts. “Depends on what it is. And don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s a way out of this mess, because it isn’t— not when we have to smooth this whole thing out with Sojiro.”

Alright. ...this really is Wakaba. For the most part, anyway. Brainwashed, maybe, but as much the genuine article as _Akechi Goro_ is. So to speak. And he has--

Well _._

A question.

“…What... did you _know_ , Sensei? About Shido. And me. About…” he swirls the mug loosely. “What I was hired to do.”

Silence.

He looks up.

Wakaba looks _surprised_ by the question, ha ha. Maybe even disturbed _._ Just a little. He’d say he wasn’t pleased, but that’d be a lie. “What the shit,” she laughs. “ _Goro_? Is that what this is about?” Shakes her head— “no, no, that doesn’t make sense. You went for the attic, not _me_ … hm. Hey, haven’t we had this conversation before?”

No.

“Well…” she raps her knuckles on the table. Goro resists the urge to snap at her, because—that’s what _Joker_ does, and this isn’t— “Don’t blow a gasket. Of course I knew. Not all the details, but Shido’s aspirations were… something of an open secret, we’ll say. The lines of thought he encouraged my team to follow, the--” she blinks, like it takes some effort to think of it. “—rampages?”

Had they happened, in this world?

_Could they?_

“Yeah-- the rampages, all over the news. _Identical_ to what you were doing in laboratory settings. You weren’t slick yourself, bud.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Motion denied. You asked a question, I’m answering it.” Rap, rap, rap. Knuckles on the table. “…that was a close one, wasn’t it? If we’d been just a little less lucky… I almost—"

_Almost._

Goro wonders what reality this woman lives in. What reality was constructed… for her, for Futaba, for Sakura-san, for— well. One where she never died. One where his crimes were never committed to begin with, for the most part. But this woman _knows him_ , still, and…?

“You know, I hear jail’s been good for him?” Wakaba snorts. “Shido, I mean. Which is… fucking absurd. I knew that man--” Goro ducks his head the moment she _winks_ , CHRIST, “--biblically, and he couldn’t shut up _then._ But! They say he’s had a real… change of heart. So maybe it’s true.” Says, in a sly tone of voice, “but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

He really wouldn’t.

“…Anyway, I meant what I meant. No more dodging the question. You. Sojiro’s attic. Bat. Chop chop.”

“Uh,” Goro says.

“Uh,” Wakaba repeats.

“Shut up. No,” he says again, “but it’s…” Ha ha. Jesus. What is he even supposed to tell her. He drinks the coffee, buys some time. “Sensei, I don’t think you’d… believe me. If I told you.”

“Let _me_ be the judge of that, thanks,” she scoffs.

Well.

All right, then.

“I was going to brain my friend,” Goro tells her, “the delinquent that usually lives in that attic. He’s in a— I don’t know, _supernatural coma_ , because God is a self-serving piece of shit. Also. You’re dead.” Another sip of coffee. “I killed you. In case you were wondering.”

Silence. Pensive. And then…

“Akechi Goro,” Wakaba says. “Explain. _Now._ ”

So, he does.

Mostly.

The story’s too long to summarize without skipping some of the details. He gets to the important bits, though, the juicy ones, boils how much of a _bastard_ he is down to the dregs. Tells her about God— twice over. An hour passes. Two. Wakaba refills his mug without asking.

And—

“…I can’t say I believe you,” she tells him when he’s through. “I don’t.”

Understandable.

“But,” she adds, “...I can’t say I... _don’t_ believe you, either. Goro, if you’re right…” her eyes are far away. It’s a familiar look. Horror and wonder and fascination. “The implications of our mutual existence-- _astonishing.”_ She leans an elbow on the counter, cradles her head in her hands— says, “Should I get in character…?” Pitches her voice low. “ _Me eat your brains…”_

“...this isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m just… well. Maruki Takuto, hm?”

“That is his name.” As much as the man has, to some apparent degree of success, scrubbed himself from the public record. “Tcht… try not to say it too loudly, will you? He’s already watching, of course.” Goro tilts the coffee-mug from side to side. “And he hasn’t _rained on our parade_ yet, but…”

“…ah,” Wakaba replies. “Yeah, I suppose. Hey.” She looks up-- forces him to meet her eyes. It’s hard. It’s always hard with her. “Shouldn’t we be thanking him? We’re very sophisticated corpses-- supposedly.” She laughs. “Me _no_ eat brains.”

No. No, no, no. “Fucking. Didn’t I tell you? You’re just-- you can’t even-- he. BRAINWASHED. You.”

She grabs his hand. It’s a shock to his system after hours of talking, of admittance, of-- he doesn’t move.

“Hey,” she says. “Look. Not to, uh, overstep some kind of…” she waves her free hand “…boundary, I guess, but—”

“ _Boundary?”_

The expression Wakaba wears is. Withering. Until it isn’t. “Yeah, that’s… the point, hm? I mean—” eyes widening, she drops his hand, runs hers through her hair instead. “Christ, okay, starting over. You,” she points at him. Whatever she has to say, he isn’t sure he wants to hear it. “Have never heard me apologize. Have you? Goro. If I’m dead, like you said.”

…What.

“Or, _if you have_ , you… can’t remember it. That’s apparent enough. I know you. I know when you’re serious.”

She does know him. Which is why the concept of… her _,_ apologizing to _him_ patently ridiculous. Him! When she had been— kind, to him. When she didn’t have to be. When she—

He’d killed her.

Goro thought her Shadow would just— _respawn_. Like the little ones did. They always came back. And it wasn’t. Supposed to be _real._ Worked for her for months on Shido’s orders and he’d just thought…

…Shido wanted to fuck her up, yeah, but not—

but.

he’d killed her.

“Goro.” fuck. “Goro- _chan_.” Fuck. “Oh, for ff-- Gogo. Are you listening to me? This is… a legitimate apology, you know.”

“For what, Sensei. I shot you. You died. You’re _dead_ , none of this is real.”

Wakaba has… the stupidest expression on her face. Like HE needs to be condescended too. “Yeah, I _do_ ,” she says. “Have to. I did, I remember saying this already _\--_ I was a shit scientist, Akechi Goro. Left my ethics at the door when it was convenient, because a human subject was dropped in my lap and you were— what, _pretending_ to be a volunteer.”

“I wasn’t,” Goro says, slowly. “Pretending…?” Where’d she get _that_ idea from? He’d done exactly what he needed to do. Knowingly. Willingly.

“You couldn’t say no.”

“That’s not,” Goro tries to say.

“You were under his thumb from the moment you met Masayoshi Shido. You couldn’t say no, and I knew it. But, hell. You were… perfect. Exactly what I needed to prove my thesis _right_! So I--”

“Shut up,” Goro tries to say.

“—ignored it. You were a teenager, and I was an adult, and I ignored what was going on the same way I ignored what Masayoshi Shido was doing with my research--” and he can’t

“Shut UP.”

deal with this

now.

Wakaba shuts up.

“Can you just…” oh, for fuck’s sake. He spilled the goddamned coffee all over the goddamned counter. Like a child. Christ. “Not. Right now.”

“…Goro,” she starts to say. Closes her mouth, examines the pool of coffee now dripping on her shoes with a critical eye. Gross. “…Alright,” she allows. “Tabled. For now. Though I’d say it’s relevant.”

Fucking… whatever. It’s a concession. “It isn't,” he says, “relevant _._ You’re dead, and I won’t thank _him_ for shit. This place is… not... right. I won’t be his fucking pet. YOU shouldn’t be his fucking pet. I told you what he did to Joker. _”_

“...Goro, you aren’t…? Alright. Joker, then. That’s the delinquent you were trying to kill… again, yeah? The one Sojiro takes in. The _leader of the Phantom Thieves_ ,” she finishes, waving her hands in vague emphasis.

“That’s right,” Goro replies.

“Hm. That guy means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

“...he does.”

“Then!” Wakaba claps her hands suddenly, and without warning, rocks back on her heels like a rubber band being snapped back into place. That’s like her. “We’ll talk about philosophy later, I think. I have-- ideas. Tests. Bloodwork to be drawn, so don’t be a baby about it. And--”

An almost imperceivable shift in her expression. Goro could almost imagine he hears a _click._

“--oh, FUCK. Goro, what time is it?”

What time WAS it? Goro glances at the clock, the one Sakura keeps next to what should be the Sayuri and is now a blank patch of wall.

“…half past five?”

“Oh,” Wakaba whispers. Louder, “oh, SHIT.”

A hand on his shoulder. Hers, of course, why does she always

“Okay, I know, this is serious business. And usually I’d be all over that. But I promised Futaba—” her eyes, pleading, “—that I’d meet her at— _for dinner_ , and I know you said you weren’t hungry, but it’s been a few hours since and—”

“And I’m still not hungry.” Mostly not a lie. “Go meet your daughter,” Goro adds, wearily. “Just. Message me, if you remember what we talked about.” The hand flexes, and…

…releases its grip.

“It’s a deal!” Wakaba tosses over her shoulder.

Ah. She’s out the door.

***

In all honesty: Goro mopes at the counter far longer than he’d usually let himself.

Which. Whatever. What else is he supposed to do tonight? Maruki had thoroughly put the kibosh on his actual plans, that bastard. And _Wakaba_ was…

busy.

So he mopes. Makes himself another (sub-par) cup of coffee to replace the one he’d spilled like an idiot child. Pops the cups into the sink-- takes the time to mop up while he’s at it before Sakura comes back to a mess.

_Would he_ , though…?

Oh, he’s not not thinking about futility now, jesus.

So-- he mops up the mess, flips the sign to _Closed_ on his way out the door-- not that anyone had been paying fucking Leblanc any business regardless _._ Goro… almost imagines he hears Joker, as he crosses the threshold. Laughing at him, from wherever he is.

Christ!

“Hey, Kid!”

Oh, great.

“Um,” says an older man-- salt and pepper hair, kind eyes, the usual businessman get-up. Stepping boisterously into _Goro’s_ space, too, like that doesn’t finger him as a bastard or a creep or both. “Would you mind answering a question..? Uh-- it’s my husband. He _loves_ curry, and we just moved into the area--”

Oh, fucking. Of course Maruki made _gay marriage_ legal. “I’m homophobic,” Goro says, blandly. “Please get out of my way.”

That does it. Ha. The look on his face is almost enough for Goro to crack a smile--

Ha ha. Goro feels, somehow, that somebody is disappointed in him.

Good.

***

“This is ridiculous,” Goro tells the wall.

He’d gotten home-- waited. No calls from Isshiki Wakaba, not that he really expected one. She probably… ha, _forgot_. Weren’t there more important things to worry about? Her daughter, for example. Futaba wanted her mother to love her _very much_. Not that she hadn’t already, but if Goro was proof of anything it was that the woman had always had priorities--

Urgh. “Patently fucking stupid,” Goro tells the wall once again. “I’m talking to a wall.”

The wall does not respond. How predictable.

“I won’t cave. This place is _disgusting_.”

Wakaba was…

“She deserves _better_ than-- than me, obviously, but better then--”

_Urgh_ , he’s crying.

“Fucking. Better than this stagnant fucking _pit_ of a reality. Sensei is-- she’s ambitious. Maruki took that from her. Even if she’s alive. Even if she’s--”

And. Of course he’s fucking tempted. All he has to do is _push_ Joker, god knows that wouldn’t be hard, and everything will fall into place: a world where he never has to have a care in the world. That’s not the point. The point is...

The _point_ is--

“What,” Goro asks, “the fuck is that supposed to be?”

The velvet blue door-- a door that most certainly had _not_ existed a few seconds before-- doesn’t respond, either.

Huh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes... velvet shenanigans. as of yet untagged characters to make an arrival next chapter, which is about halfway written! could not tell you when, exactly, it will be posted, but it will be soon-ish.
> 
> you can find me at @isntitlupintic on twitter and lesbianakechi on tumblr! feel free to drop by and say hello 😊


	2. prison labor (interlude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new player introduces herself.

Goro wades through the fog in the space beyond the door.

He isn’t sure what he expected to find. Something more interesting than _this_ , surely, nothing but cold damp and grave dirt— but ah, he thinks. It is what it is. The shimmery blue door that marked the sole entrance and exit is long gone, vanished after his first few steps in the cold and the wet. To point a fine point on it: 

There is nothing left for him there. 

He walks.

Goro becomes aware of a shift in his reality in bits and pieces. The dirt beneath his bare feet gives way to rough cobbles, the landscape sketches itself out: the road he walks is lined with traditional houses, a picturesque through-fare straight out of the pages of a textbook. Fabric rustles strangely around his legs as he walks-- Goro looks down and finds the pajamas he’d worn past the door had at some point become a horizontally striped yukata, black and white and _hilariously_ typical.

So that’s what this is. 

…at least he’s acquired sandals. That was driving him goddamned nuts. 

Some time passes before he stumbles upon an object of note: a sign hanging from a post at the side of the road.

SOMETHING–OR–OTHER STREET, it reads. D. HILL.

“Creative,” Goro says, dryly, and continues on his way. 

The road terminates at an obvious endpoint, the way Goro had grown to suspect it would… eventually. A building, constructed the same way as any other building on the street. Shut tight the way it is, it’s almost impossible to tell what its purpose is in daytime hours (and not this strange foggy twilight). But Goro feels…

…something, itching in the back of his mind. 

PLUM BLOSSOM HOUSE reads a sign that didn’t exist a half second before. FOOL, in a smaller script. ISN’T THIS **YOUR** STORY?

“I know that reference,” Goro snaps. Imagine! _Akechi Goro_ not reading the classics. Detective Kogoro would appear himself just to strike him down. Stranger things had happened-- Arsène Lupin haunts Joker, still, but-- “Christ. Maybe I’ll just _die_ out here.” 

Silence from the peanut gallery.

He enters the building.

A voice rings out to greet him-- “My!” a girl laughs. “It took you long enough! I was _beginning_ to presume you had perished on your way.” The girl is his age (perhaps a little younger) and knelt at one of the low-set tables around what is, indeed, identifiable as a traditional sort of teashop. “Tsk, tsk. Tsk!” 

The demure-ness of her posture is in-line with the truly comical politeness of her speech, if not the actual words being spoken. It’s the work of an instant to categorize the rest of the little details-- hair so pale it’s nearly white, shadow-gold eyes. The outfit tips suspicion into confirmation: a stupid blue dress, accented with round circles where the buttons would be, and an equally stupid hat. 

“…one of Lavenza’s associates, I assume.”

“Associates… ? Oh, _no_. I, Elizabeth, am an attendant no longer! I quit, silly boy,” explains the girl, waving her hands loosely. “ _I_ have grown past the role that defined me. But an elder sister does as an elder sister must, and it wouldn’t do to leave her ‘swinging’, as it were.” Her expression twists. “…swinging…? Swing dancing? Hm. Oh, well, something like that.”

“Hanging,” Goro corrects. 

“Maybe you will be good for something, Akechi Goro!”

It’s going to be one of _those_ conversations. “What _is_ this place?” he tries, unwilling to let the conversation deteriorate further. “And why are you--?”

Elizabeth giggles. Cuts herself off, face tilting down, the picture of sorrow. “I’m sorry,” she sniffles unconvincingly, “I didn’t realize that you were illiterate! How inconsiderate of me! Oh, _boo hoo_ …”

“I can--”

“My abilities have waned in my absence…!”

“--read--”

“ _Boo hoo_ …!” 

“Do not _._ Patronize me.” Goro grits his teeth and kneels across from her at the low table, careful of the yukata’s folds. Elizabeth ceases the crocodile tears, at least, peering at him through the cracks between her fingers. “This is a story. Detective Akechi Kogoro’s first, to be precise. _‘The Case of The Murder on D Hill_ ’.”

“Plum Blossom House,” replies Elizabeth. “Is a beginning. And so, we shall start here!” 

“Start _what_?”

“I shall not be answering any more of your questions,” she continues. “As I find them boring. If you insist on interrupting me further, I will have no choice but to refer to you as… oh, I don’t know, Theodore Junior. Hm.” She tilts her head. “Yes, that suits you. Be quiet, Theodore Junior!”

Murder is still off the table.

“Ah HEM. As I was saying, Theodore Junior— my younger sister is in need of assistance. Assistance I cannot grant her, as powerful as I am. And believe me,” she adds, “I am VERY powerful.” 

Goro is no Futaba, but he can sense enough of her aura to confirm _that._

“You were never truly her guest… but a connection exists, nonetheless, one _I_ amcapable of exploiting. If it ‘sweetens the stew’ for you, I think…”

She pauses, chin in her hands.

“…I think finding her may be the first step towards achieving your own ambitions. The sleeping fool is _your_ prerogative, isn’t it? And—” she wrinkles her nose, like she found the very discussion of it distasteful “--the destruction of that false God’s empty shell of a reality, of course.”

Goro grips the fabric of his yukata under the table, tries to play off the hitch in his breath. “…how so? And. Why should I believe _you_ , Elizabeth-san?” 

“You already do,” Elizabeth replies. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. This is _your_ story.” Smiling with more teeth than any human would have, she says, “I’m sure you won’t find this too uncomfortable of an experience, dear, babier Theo— well, you’ll survive it.” Chin in her hands once again, she laughs. “Most likely.”

She snaps her fingers. 

“...was that supposed to do something?” Goro tries to ask-- but the girl is already gone. 

Water laps gently at his ankles. 

“Ah.”

Goro extracts himself from the floor, standing on top of the table as the water begins to rise, and rise, and rise, almost imperceptible trickles through the walls quickly turning into a gushing flood. A problem (it reaches his neck) a VERY large problem (his chin) because-- 

“I don’t know how to fucking _swim_ \--”

The water swallows his head. 

(goro drowns). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> APOLOGIES AGAIN i am working on the rest of it but since i think formatting wise it's better to keep this separate im just uploading now. hello liz. hello pretentious references to really bad pulp novels from the meiji era. fjlkdsajflkds detective akechi kogoro is a guy. once again you can find me at @isntitlupintic on twitter or @lesbianakechi on tumblr!


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